


as the music dies

by tigriswolf



Series: unfinisheds [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, F/M, Gen, Mythology - Freeform, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:03:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean was born wingless; but Mary could see the outline on his back. <i>My darling</i>, she whispered the night they brought him home, <i>I wish that I could give you the sky</i>. She held him to her breast and twirled around, vainly trying to recall how it felt to fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: as the music dies  
> Part: I  
> Disclaimer: the Winchesters aren’t mine; title from “Careless Whisper” by Wham.  
> Warnings: pre-pilot  
> Pairings: John/Mary  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 560  
> Point of view: third  
> Notes: written before we knew anything about Mary's family

She was born with ebon-gray wings curving at her back. They were of a leather-like material, closer to bat wings than anything else. Daddy and Mama hid her away from the world the first dozen years of her life, only letting her out of the house at night. 

Micah, her younger brother, had no wings; nor did Carolyn, three years after him.

Mama and Daddy couldn’t explain her wings, and instead acted like they weren’t there. When she was fourteen, Daddy took her to a doctor up in Maine and had them removed. She had to learn to move again, how to sit and walk and run, but Daddy told her she had a life, now, and to be happy with her freedom.

Carolyn helped Mary learn to be normal; Micah never looked at her the same. _They were beautiful,_ he told her, the one time they ever talked about her wings. _How could you get rid of them?_

It wasn’t her choice, and the largest part of her wasn’t sorry they were gone.

-

She met John the spring after her twentieth birthday. Micah introduced them; at first, she didn’t like the uncouth man. He courted her over the span of a few months, and made her laugh. He took her to movies and the park, and even to the beach, though it was far away.

By her twenty-first birthday, Mary knew he was the one meant for her.

-

Carolyn joined a coven the fall of Mary’s twenty-second year. She wasn’t that powerful, not like other women of their blood, but she was very controlled. She told Mary that the wings had been a throwback to previous times, when the family had ruled the sky.

 _They only form on the firstborn_ , Carolyn said. _So when you and John have children…_

 _Teach me_ , Mary begged her. _I don’t want my baby treated like I was._

It was a simple spell Mary learned, easily done. And Mary realized, as she stared at the night sky a few sunsets later, that she missed her wings, fiercely longed for them. She had only flown a few times, never for more than a few minutes, and she wanted them back.

She could not take the possibility away from her child. So she tweaked the magic her sister gave her, just a little bit.

-

Mary was twenty-four when she learned she was pregnant. She could feel the child growing in her; her babe filled her with joy. John was even more excited than she, like a boy again. She smiled when he pressed his cheek to her belly, listening for the baby.

The months passed swiftly; Carolyn and Mama visited often, Daddy a little less. Micah never came, off traveling the world.

In her dreams, Mary flew through the night sky, a laughing man she’d never seen before beside her. He had her eyes, and she knew him.

So as John’s boy grew in her womb, she wove a spell to seal his wings—her legacy—into his skin, unrevealed until nothing else could save him.

-

Dean was born wingless; but Mary could see the outline on his back. _My darling_ , she whispered the night they brought him home, _I wish that I could give you the sky_. She held him to her breast and twirled around, vainly trying to recall how it felt to fly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: as the music dies  
> Part: II  
> Disclaimer: the Winchesters aren’t mine. title from Wham.  
> Warnings: AU after “Mystery Spot”  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 3285  
> Point of view: third  
> Notes: thanks to SadeLyrate for reading over this

A week left of Dean’s year and Sam finally takes him to the Grand Canyon. They go at dawn to watch the sun rise. Sam watches Dean instead, how his face softens the higher the sun peaks over the horizon. He looks young, like the boy Sam never really saw. 

So when the kid next to Dean, dragged out by his parents to something he couldn’t care less about, pushes Dean hard enough to flip over the edge Sam doesn’t see it coming.

-

At first there’s silence, shock. Then screaming. Sam’s frozen, eyes wide, then he lunges forward, shouting “Dean!” He leans over the side, sparing the kid a glare; black pupil-less eyes gaze back, a cold smirk twisting the boy’s lips.

Sam doesn’t have the time to deal with him now; he looks down, expecting to see Dean spread out on the Canyon bottom. But Dean’s not there. He’s hovering midair a few feet away, dark gray wings pumping steadily, facing Sam with wide, terrified eyes.

“Sammy?” he says, voice young, searching for answers Sam can’t give.

The crowd begins to gasp and whisper. Sam needs to figure out what’s going on, but he can’t do that with civilians looking over his shoulder.

He keeps holding Dean’s gaze but directs his voice to everyone else: “Shut up!” He infuses Dad’s command-tone into the words. They quiet. Sam sees blood dripping from Dean’s body, down into the ravine, but not where it’s coming from. He needs to get Dean back on solid ground, and he can’t do that until the crowd goes away.

“Sammy,” Dean says again, and he sounds tired; his wings are slowing down.

“Everyone,” Sam says. “Get in your cars and go away.” He tries for Andy’s ability; it seems to work because they go, slowly and hesitantly.

Only the demon-child stays. “See what’s in your mother’s blood?” he says.

“Get away,” Sam growls, eyes still on Dean, who’s quickly tiring out.

“As you command, Majesty,” he replies, sarcasm painting each word. “But remember,” he adds, more seriously. “You owe me.” The stolen body patters off; Dean sinks a few inches in the air, leathery wings straining.

“Dean!” Sam calls. “Focus on me.” Dean raises his head, blinking quickly. “Can you come towards me?”

“I dunno,” Dean answers. “I’m not real sure on how to steer.”

“Just try,” Sam tells him. “Come a little closer and I’ll be able to reach you, pull you in.”

Dean nods, cranes his neck to check out his wings. They’re pumping even slower now. He looks back at Sam and grits his teeth. Sam watches his wings angle and slam down on the air.  
He moves forward nearly a foot.

“Again!” Sam commands. “You’re almost close enough.”

Dean’s panting. Sam knows that only pure iron will is keeping his brother up.

Dean gasps as his wings struggle, but he’s in reach and Sam grabs him, yanks him onto the cliff. Dean collapses against him and Sam goes down, cradling Dean close. The wings fold up against his back; Dean’s whole body trembles.

“I got you,” Sam says, voice shaking now that Dean’s safe. Gently, Sam picks him up, one arm around his shoulders, the other beneath his knees. Dean hisses in pain, but says nothing. Sam hurries to the car and settles Dean on the backseat.

Dean’s so out of it that he doesn’t complain.

-

Sam drives for over an hour before he’s sure they’re far enough away. He checks them in then carries Dean into the room, lays him on his stomach and cuts off his shirt.

The shirt is caked with dry blood; bits of flesh dot it. Sam examines Dean’s back closely, but the wings are seamlessly attached. Whatever ripped has healed up.

Sam cleans him with a holy water-soaked towel then slowly and carefully straightens each wing, studying them. They’re longer than Dean is tall, thin membranes of dark gray, a leathery material. They remind him of bat wings and seem so fragile, so new. Don’t look nearly strong enough to support Dean in the air.

Dean finally startles awake, shying away from Sam, wings fluttering. He whips his head around and Sam thinks of a bird.

But Dean sees him and calms, the wings settling.

“Not a dream, then,” Dean croaks. “Damn it.”

-

Sam makes a food run and Dean wolfs down everything before draining half a dozen bottles of water.

“Do you have any clue what’s goin’ on?” Sam asks him.

Dean shakes his head, wings stretched out behind him. He flexes them open and closed, upper body trembling. “I used to dream about flying,” he says. “But doesn't every kid?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. Then he adds, “But not every kid sprouts wings.”

-

Dean falls asleep sitting up in the middle of explaining why they can’t call Bobby. Sam gently lays him belly-down. The wings spread out, both trailing on the floor.

There’s a week left, not nearly enough time. There’s a week left, too many questions and no answers at all. There’s a week left and Sam rests his palm on Dean’s neck, lightly gripping.

In a week, Dean’ll be gone. Sam’s already lived three months without him, already watched him die over a hundred different ways.

Dean shifts and Sam lets him go, crawls into his own bed. Sleep is a long time coming.

-

Next morning, Dean still has wings. Beyond that, though, he’s back to himself. He figures out how to use the bathroom, brush his teeth, and shower. When Sam goes in, water is all over the floor, but he doesn’t care because Dean is happy.

Sam gets fully dressed, but Dean leaves off his shirt. He stands in the middle of the room and flexes his wings, folding them then raising them over his head. Sam checks his email and begins researching any cases of winged people he can find.

Wings just don’t pop up out of the blue. There has to be a precedent.

There’s nothing. Sam shoves his laptop aside and makes a food run at noon.

Once again, Dean eats more than normal, even for him, and drinks water instead of coke or beer. Sam figures it must be part of the change.

“Why can’t we call Bobby?” Sam asks, since Dean didn’t explain himself fully before falling asleep.

“There’s no point, Sammy,” Dean says, glancing at him before looking away.

Sam pauses in the act of sipping his water. He lowers the bottle and stares at Dean. “What?”

“You know there’s no point.” Dean bites his lip and his wings rustle. He sounds apologetic. “I’ll be dead in less than a week.”

Sam throws his bottle down, spilling water across the floor, and storms out.

-

Sam wanders for hours. He knows Dean’s right. That he should go back, spend what time he has left. But he can’t face that knowledge, not now.

“Why aren’t you with your brother?” a young voice asks to the side.

Sam looks: the boy from the Grand Canyon, the kid who pushed Dean over the edge. Sam moves quicker than sight, grabbing the boy by his collar and dragging him into an alley.  
“What’d you do?” Sam demands.

The kid smirks, an expression too old for his face, eyes pure black. “I didn’t do anything, Majesty. The potential has always been there.”

Sam shakes him, anger thrumming through his body. “Who are you?”

“Merely a servant of Hell’s true Lord.” He doesn’t struggle, just stares at Sam. “Any good king has a loyal right hand man. Your brother has always been yours, but now he’s come into his own mighty power.”

Sam shakes his head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The demon smiles. “Azazel didn’t know, Majesty. Nor does the Ruby-bitch. But I have watched from the beginning, waiting for my time. Hell has no claim on the sky.” It meets Sam’s eyes. “And your brother is the Heir of a very powerful sky family.”

Sam frowns, searching the stolen face for a lie. “What?”

The demon rolls the boy’s eyes. “You don’t know anything about your mother at all, do you? Her family is descended from air elementals, Sam. Power greater than a human mind can imagine flowed in her blood, hidden by time, muted and faded, ever waiting to be called on.” It sighs. “Her father had her wings removed, foolishly, so she hid Dean’s beneath his skin.” He pauses and continues, “Your mother was the only firstborn to survive past infancy in nearly a thousand years.”

Sam lets go and the demon drops down. “Your brother is safe from Hell now, until you take him down there yourself.” It blinks innocently up at him. “Change is coming, Majesty. You are the King, but he is Air, Lord of the Sky.”

Closing his eyes, Sam tries to assimilate everything he’s just been told. “Demons lie,” he whispers.

The demon chuckles. “Only if it hurts worse than the truth, but that’s a rare case.” It pats Sam’s arm. “Demons cannot change bodies, cannot put something in a person that wasn’t already there. I watched when your mother wove her spell; I heard the words she used. You need your brother whole, in the days ahead, just like he needs you. And having Hell’s true Lord indebted to me is quite a bonus.”

Sam steps back, suddenly wanting to see Dean fiercely. “Get the fuck away from me,” he snarls. “And stay away from Dean.”

The demon nods. “As you command, Majesty,” it says again, this time without a trace of sarcasm. “I am Zar. Call my name when you need aid or information.”

Sam doesn’t watch it go.

-

Dean gives him a guarded look when Sam lets himself in the room. He’s sitting on his bed using the laptop and gently sets it aside.

“Sorry,” Sam says. He walks to his bed and Dean turns, wings shifting to help keep his balance; his shoulders hunch and the wings fold down. “I’m just…” Sam sighs. “I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugs. “No big deal.” Trying to be easy, no trouble.

He thinks he’ll be gone in a week and Sam doesn’t know what to believe anymore.

-

Dean drapes a sheet over his shoulders and lays down in the backseat. Sam drives them out of town, playing Dean’s music. Neither of them talks.

Sam chooses a nice stretch of desert and parks. Dean sits up and looks at Sam in the rearview.

“Sammy,” he says. “I don’t… I never meant to make life hard for you.”

Sam smiles sadly; even now, nearly a week ahead of time, Dean’s saying goodbye. “I know, Dean.”

Dean slips out of the car, tossing the sheet on the seat. He’s shirtless, wearing jeans and boots—the amulet Sam gave him years ago glints in the sunlight, gleaming gold. His wings arch up over his head and he looks like a legend.

“Go on,” Sam tells him. “I’ll be here when you come back.”

Dean grins at him and flaps his wings, jumping up into the air. He’s grown used to them, shoulders already prepared for the strain, like they’ve always been a part of him.

As he flies higher, Sam admits that his brother looks like a Lord of the Sky.

-

It’s dusk when Dean returns, panting and sweating. “Damn, I’m hungry,” he groans, sinking onto the hood beside Sam, wings folded in. “Tell me you got some food.”

Silently, Sam hands him a giant bag of M&Ms.

-

The last few days of Dean’s year pass quickly, with Sam watching Dean fly in the desert. Sam hasn’t told him about the demon, and won’t unless it proves true.

God, he hopes it does.

Dean was enjoying himself in the sky, becoming stronger by the moment. He thought these were his last days of freedom before eternal torment.

The last night before Dean’s final day, Sam goes outside and whispers, “Zar.” He waits, feeling like a fool, but Ruby hasn’t appeared in almost six months and he has no idea what to do.

Smoke wafts up from the ground, taking humanoid form. “Yes, Majesty?” it says.

“His year is up tomorrow,” Sam says softly.

“Hell has no claim on him. Now that he is at full strength, Hell could not hold him against his will.”

Sam has no room left in him for false hope. “Please tell me you’re not lying.”

Zar has no face, but sounds sympathetic as it says, “I am not lying to you, Majesty. Dean is yours, the last Lord of the Sky left in the world.”

Sam closes his eyes in relief. “What do I do?”

Zar drifts closer, brushing Sam’s face. “Go with him to meet whoever comes, Lord. Be there. It will work out. You have my word.”

-

Dean wakes when Sam opens the door, raises his head to look over. “Sammy?” he calls softly.  
Sam walks to the foot of the bed and crawls up to Dean, who lifts his right wing for Sam to slip under.

Just for tonight, they are boys again, united against the world. Sam nestles as close as he can, Dean folding his wing around him.

“Love you, Sammy,” Dean whispers, only the threat of tomorrow finally forcing the words out of him.

“I know, Dean,” Sam whispers back. “But you seem to forget that I love you, too.”

-

The sun sets. They sit side by side on the Impala’s hood, Dean’s wings folded in tight.  
Sam doesn’t know what he’ll do if Zar is wrong and Dean dies tonight. But it won’t be pleasant, for anybody.

Dean takes off his necklace and holds it out to Sam.

“No,” Sam says. “I gave that to you, and you’re keeping it.”

Dean sighs. “It won’t do any good in Hell.”

“I don’t care.” Sam snatches the string from Dean and puts it back around his neck.

Dean twists the amulet in his fingers. “I don’t wanna go,” he tells Sam softly, like a confession.

A body appears on the edge of the desert. Sam notices it first, then Dean, and they watch it come closer—a tall woman with bright red hair in an elegant pale dress.

“The Winchester boys,” she calls.

Dean pushes off his car, wings spreading, and steps in front of Sam.

The woman-shaped thing pauses mid-step, eyes burning yellow. “What did you _do_?”

“Nothin’,” Dean answers. “I got pushed off a cliff and they popped out.”

She hisses, stalking closer. “Samuel.”

Sam tries going around Dean, but Dean moves with him, staying in front. “I’m the only one you’re here for,” Dean says. “So let’s get goin’.”

She reaches forward and grabs his left wing. “Think you’re such a smart boy, huh, Samuel?” she says, pulling hard. Dean grunts but doesn’t move. “Think this’ll keep me from his soul? You live by my sufferance. My daughter gave you back your life and you killed her. You murdered her with no pity or gratitude at all.” She brings her other hand up to cup Dean’s cheek. “And now you try to cheat me out of Dean’s gutter soul?”

Dean says, sounding confused and put-out, “I’m here in good faith, to go to Hell with you, so leave him alone.”

She laughs, stepping back, peering around Dean to look at Sam. “You haven’t told him? How many secrets are you keeping from him?”

Dean shifts minutely, to peer from the corner of his eye at Sam. “What’re you talking about, hell-bitch?”

She straightens, eyes fading to dark blue. “There will be war, boys.”

Sam nods. “Back down and I’ll let you live.”

She scoffs. “I’ve lived too long to be a fool.” With a quick movement, too swift to follow, she darts around Dean to grip Sam’s neck.

Before Sam can react, she’s flung away, landing hard on the cold desert ground. Dean’s in the air, wings arched and wide, being held aloft by something Sam can’t see but can feel.

“Clearly, you haven’t,” Dean growls.

She stands, hair and dress lashing around in the rough wind. “ _Infant_ ,” she hisses. “You are no threat to me.”

Dean’s laugh is cruel. “I’ve been dreaming the past, hell-bitch.” He lands in front of her and a silver sword manifests in his right hand.

“Dean?” Sam starts forward, but something pushes him back, holds him in place.

“My playground, Sammy,” Dean says. “My rules.” He focuses on the woman-shaped thing, setting the tip of the sword at the hollow of her throat. “Tell me the truth. Can any of you take Sam’s life?”

She glares up at him, but speaks. “Anything that was born can die.” Her eyes flick to Sam. “His life for your soul was the deal. Now that you’ve found a way out, he has to die again.” She shrugs delicately. “Natural law can’t be broken.”

“Dean,” Sam says again.

“Quiet, Sam.” Dean’s wings arch up, his whole body straightening. “I kept my end,” he tells the demon. “It’s not my fault I can’t go with you.” The sword slides into her neck, pure white light glowing around the blade. “So Sam lives.”

The light pulses, bathing all three of them, and when it fades, the woman is collapsed on the ground.

Silence for a handful of heartbeats. Then Sam asks, “What’d you do?”

Dean’s wings lower, trailing on the dust, and the sword vanishes. “Killed the demon. The host is fine.” He crumples, Sam barely catching him before he pitches onto the sand.

-

Dean sleeps for half a week, unmoving on the bed. Sam watches, barely sleeping himself. The second day, he calls Zar again.

“He’ll be fine, Majesty,” Zar assures him. “His body is simply adjusting.” He floats in front of Sam, again in smoke form. “The demon has been dealt with?”

Sam nods. “He killed it. With a sword of light…” Sam shakes his head, sighing. “This is all so weird…”

Zar chuckles. “Together, the two of you are unbeatable. And neither of you will leave the other, so…” Sam gets the feeling that Zar shrugs.

“Why’d you help me?” Sam asks.

Zar is quiet for a moment; Sam lays his hand on Dean’s shoulder, lightly touching the base of his wing. “Because I was there in the beginning,” Zar finally says. “Because I know what lies in your blood, long before Azazel tried corrupting you. Dean inherited the full gift, as firstborn; but you have some, too, Majesty. I was there, millennia ago; I remember the reign of Sky Lords, of Air. I remember…” Zar sighs, smoke billowing around Sam. “It was a grand time, Majesty. And together, you and he can bring it back.”

Sam tilts his head to the side. “You think we can do that?”

Zar laughs. “Majesty, you are Hell’s true Lord, a child of Air with Fire’s touch. And he is the greatest of the Sky Lord’s to ever fly. He’s barely had his wings for a week and he already formed a sword of will?” Zar sinks down a little. “You don’t know, but that is a grand feat.”

Sam looks back at Dean, spread out over the bed, wings draping the floor. “Thank you, Zar. I just…”

“Take care of yourself, Majesty,” Zar murmurs, slipping into the carpet. “And your brother. I expect great things of you.”

Once alone with his brother, Sam slips into bed beside him, under his right wing, and listens to Dean breathe.

-

Dean wakes up cranky, demanding food before even opening his eyes. Sam has a bag of peanut M&Ms and runs out for a real meal while Dean negotiates the shower.

Dean’s not ready to talk yet, and that’s fine with Sam. They have all the time in the world.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: as them music dies  
> Chapter: interlude  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.  
> Warnings: none  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 265  
> Point of view: third

Sometimes he dreams of flying, strong and sure wings beating down, launching him into the sky. He dreams of the stars and the sun and the moon, the wind caressing him like a lover, power seeping through his skin to his blood. He dreams of a pure, shining light enveloping him, of a low feminine voice whispering secrets. 

He feels so strong. So right, twirling in the sky. Waking from those dreams hurts, because they’re not his. 

The dreams belong to Dean, and Sam feels like a thief every time he has one. The dreams are Dean’s, his teacher and his freedom, his sanctuary. Sam has no place there. Sam is of the earth, of darkness and dirt. Dean is the sky.

Waking from those dreams hurts, because Dean would share it, if he could. He would trade his destiny for Sam’s, if he could. 

He would give Sam his wings, take Sam’s throne, spend the rest of eternity Below. If he could. If there were any way at all, he would do it and never speak of regret. 

In the dreams, Sam is welcomed into the sky. He belongs there. He is safe there. When he wakes, he is bound to the land, to Hell, to the throne and the crown. 

There is no pure, shining light for him. Only darkness and flame, only caverns and gloom. 

The dreams are his freedom, even though they are not meant for him. 

Until the dream Dean appears in, wings arched overhead, little-boy grin curving his lips. He holds out a hand. 

“C’mon, Sammy,” he says. “Let’s fly.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: as the music dies  
> Chapter: interlude II  
> Fandom: “Supernatural”  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.  
> Warnings: AU; spoilers for season two  
> Pairings: none stated  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 176  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: wings

Even years later, when centuries have gone by and the mountains he once climbed have turned to dust, he remembers the first time he flew.

Not that plane almost brought down by a demon, no—he remembers how the wings tore out of his back and started pumping, churning the air, keeping him from the bottom of the Canyon. He remembers the terror, worse than on the plane, worse than lying in a hospital bed and being told he'd be dead in a month. (Not worse than standing beside Sam and hearing Dad's flatline, and not worse than holding Sam as he died.)

He remembers looking to Sam, and the fear on Sam's face, but how calm Sam kept his voice. How he talked Dean back onto solid ground and then caught him as Dean's body collapsed.

Even centuries later, more decades than he'd been able to fathom, once, he remembers that after the terror, after the exhaustion, as he made the wings do what he wanted, something slotted into place and the wind whispered, _Arise_.


End file.
